And I fall
by Shiva Angel
Summary: Draco is abused and tortured by all he has of a family. But, when he returns for his sixth year at Hogwarts, will he find the love he's always longed for, and end the tragedy he's longed to forget? Chapter 5 Uploaded
1. Escape

_Title: And I fall..._

_Rating: R_

_Warnings: Descriptive violence, undescriptive sex (rape), slash (to come!! ^_^_), _angstiness. I warn you, this fic is dark. If you have a problem with the aforementioned, I suggest you leave._ _You don't belong here. Please no flames, thanks much ^_^_

_Pairings: Draco/Harry, possibly others, but D/H centric_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I'm not making any money off of this anyway. I'm just a fan!!! A really BIG fan! *points to sky* So please don't sue, you don't have any reason to... This disclaimer applies for all chapters_

_**Author Note**: _Welcome to my first Harry Potter fic! I'm so happy I finally managed to write one, I've been wanting to for so long now... Well, I wrote the first two chapters and figured, okay, time to post it on FF.net! So then, just to re-warn you, this is gonna be a slash fic, and its gonna be dark... very dark. No romance yet, but trust me, I'm a huge fan of the Draco/Harry pairing, and it _will_ be coming, so hold tight for now! Anyways, let me know how you feel about it when you're done please _^_^_ I'd greatly appreciate. Anyways, until then, enjoy! 

Draco Malfoy walked slowly down the dank corridors of the Hogwarts dungeons towards the Slytherin common room. His mind fell back onto past events; the screaming, the fighting, the blood... and those soft kisses that had fallen so gently onto his forehead. He pressed a pale hand to his forehead then, not sure what to think of his life at the moment. His mind raced through the last few hours after that; silver stars sparkling in the dark night sky above him, a feeling coursing through him that he had not felt in all his time spent at the Malfoy Manor. _Was it love?,_ he asked himself, replaying the images through his mind again and again. _No, I learned that love does not exist when I was young. _His steps echoed down the long hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as the common room portrait door came into his sight. _But if it's not, then what is this empty feeling inside of me?_

_6 months prior..._

Draco rose quietly out of his bed, looking outside his window for signs of daylight.He found it still dark, the sun just breaking out above the horizon, with only a few stray sunbeams lighting the gray ground in lustrous shades of red and yellow. He held his breathe in suspense though, not taking the time to admire the beautiful sunrise in the distance. He saw many a dark figure moving toward the front of Malfoy Manor, and watched them instead. A few seemed to shudder as the sun rose further and they were struck with rays of light; they sulked towards the house, and the blonde heard his own father welcoming them into his home. 

It had only been three days since his return from his fifth year at Hogwarts, and Draco was already escaping out his window to avoid his father and the Death Eaters. 

Draco, still in pajamas of a silky black material, moved quickly over the hill behind Malfoy Manor towards a small creek. His unkempt hair was rustled further in the wind, and he brushed it back with a small hand as he finally reached the cool waters of the creek. He sunk both of his hands into the refreshing waters and splashed it onto his face. Nearly instantly he felt more awake; his lack of sleep since his return home was finally catching up with him. 

Every year Draco prayed that school would end, that he could come back home and relax for a month before they made him return to that 'sorry excuse' for a school. And every year Draco returned home, and prayed that the summer would pass quickly so he could go back to Hogwarts, that he could escape the torture that was living with Lucius Malfoy for another year. 

In only three days the blonde already felt cornered, trapped in a mind game his father had always loved to play with him. A game of many names; a game of confusion one moment, and a game of hope the next. A game of hope that would quickly fade into a game of tragedy and distress... 

Draco leaned back against the old apple tree near the river, closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt at relaxation. His mind played back past summers in his mind, though, and the relief he longed for slipped through his soft fingers. So many days spent screaming inside as he was hurt and hurt again by his family, if they could even be called that. Truly he had no real family. 

_Lucius Malfoy... if that were what family was like, we'd all be dead faster than Voldemort could kill a man._ Draco opened his eyes for a moment and sighed at the thought of his father; there was no worse evil in his mind. _And Narcissa, she could be family, but all she does is follow father's orders, like some kind of servant. Crabbe and Goyle, true, you could say friends are family... but they aren't _true _friends now, are they? Nothing more than a couple of followers that can be twisted and used in different ways when I really need something... Too bad what I need is friends who wouldn't betray me at the sight of a piece of cake..._ Draco laughed halfheartedly, though his mind still hung over the fact that he not only had no true family, but no true friends either... 

He ran a hand through the lush green grass and pressed his head back onto the smooth surface of the tree. He closed his eyes, attempting once more to calm his mind and relax. And slowly, sleep came to him... 

'_Blood... dripping down... Where is it coming from? And dear God, why does my head hurt so much?' Draco looked upward as he thought, and a single drop of blood fell off of his soft white hair onto his hand and he followed it with his eyes. It splattered slightly when it hit his hand, creating several small drops._

_Draco ran a pale hand over his forehead; it felt damp with what he assumed was sweat. But he pulled down his hand and looked at it, and he saw dark crimson streaks where what he now knew to be blood had touched his hand. He shuddered a little, and sank back against the cold stone wall he was finding behind himself._

_As he felt the damp wall behind him, he grew more aware of his surroundings and glanced around the dank, stone room. Though his vision was blurred, he managed to make out silvery bars in the distance, and a twisted staircase further past that. But none of that mattered to him now, as a shady figure moved toward him, and a smooth voice ordered him to stay still as the figure slid a hand up his shirt..._

Draco's upper body flew upward, a cold sweat breaking out onto his forehead. He gripped tightly to the ground, as if it would stop the flood of memories that kept coming back to him. He latched a hand onto a branch of the tree that his back had slid of as he slept, and pulled himself up, standing next to the creek and still tightly gripping the tree branch. 

The sun had fully risen by then, shining down onto him and reflecting off the silk of his pajamas. Draco sighed, and pushed the images of his dream out of his mind as he stepped towards the creek and splashed his face once more. He then began walking towards Malfoy Manor, and crept in through the back door. 

Walking as lightly as he could, Draco wandered down the long corridors of his home, and quickly found his own room. _Thank God that Father hasn't found me..._ he thought to himself, turning the doorknob quietly. He looked behind him once more, and saw a dark figure moving through the hall. He whipped the door open the rest of the way, and shut himself in. He breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that he had barely escaped being caught by the dark creature, and flipped the switch for his bedroom light. 

"Dear, dear Draco, did you honestly believe you could escape this place for even a minute without me catching you?" Draco turned slowly, facing the speaker. Before him stood a tall man, with silvery-white hair falling down to the middle of his back. His left hand fell over a small green ball that was pressed into a dark wooden cane, and his right hand stroked the base of his chin. A dark robe billowed down onto the floor, and sharp, piercing eyes bared down onto the boy. He could nearly feel them cutting into his skin in a painful, twisted way. "This Manor is surrounded by Death Eaters, as I'm sure you saw this morning. Are you so _stupid_ to think that one of them wouldn't have seen you? Oh, yes, that's right...," he began, a sly smirk emerging onto his face. "You _are_ that stupid..." 

Draco refused to speak, for not only did he know if he did it would only result in more consequences than he already faced, but it was strictly against his family code to go against his father's wishes, or to speak back to him. He chose to simply look down at his feet, not from shame, but in a futile attempt to hide his evergrowing hatred. 

Lucius took several steps toward his son so that they now stood less than a foot apart. Without breaking his gaze on Draco, he lifted his cane, and set it down onto Draco's foot. He then leaned onto the cane, and the sharp metal base of it pierced Draco's bare foot. Draco cringed, but he showed no sign of fear or pain besides that, and simply raised his face to look into the eyes of his father. His look displayed not the slightest bit of fear, nor defiance, though; he simply looked back into those piercing, silver-gray eyes. 

Lucius pulled the cane back out of his foot, and Draco cringed again as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the splatter of blood across his foot. The scarlet liquid stood out strongly against his pale skin as it seeped down the side of his foot and formed the smallest of puddles beneath it. 

Draco stood strongly, his eyes did not move from their fixated point on his father's, as Lucius' did not leave their point on Draco's. Draco took a step back, though the pain in his foot stopped him from moving much more. 

"Move again, boy, and trust me, you'll never move again." Lucius spoke in a matter of sheer sincerity and bluntness as he took another step towards the boy, though Draco moved back as well. He couldn't remember the last time he had gone against his father's wishes, though the second he stepped back he knew he had made an awful mistake. 

Lucius nearly immediately flung out his hand and knocked Draco against the hard wall of his room. He hit hard, and sunk down to the floor in a sitting position, his back aching horridly against the cool surface of the wall. He watched as Lucius pulled his wand out from his robe's pocket, and pointed it directly at his face. "Stand, boy, stand and face me. Do you, in all your stupidity, not realize what today means for you?" 

Draco pushed himself up off of the floor, and stood before his father. He shook his head, for he had no idea of what his father spoke of. 

"Fool," he spat bitterly. "Can you not feel the power within our very home?" He looked down disdainfully upon his son and sneered. "_Our_ Master is here, for today is the day you receive the Dark Mark." 

**_Author Note: _**Please leave me some reviews to let me know what you think, and enjoy chapter 2! 


	2. Capture

_For the rating, warnings, and disclaimer of this fic, please view Chapter 1: Escape_

**_Author Note:_** Second Chapter of 'And I fall...' Have fun! 

Draco wanted to race from his room again, though he wished not to come back. Ever. _"Today is the day you receive the Dark Mark."_ The thought ran through his mind again and again, and he felt his stomach sink from the bottom of his stomach. He knew he'd be in for the heaviest beating of his life if he denied his father this... But should he wait until Voldemort came to place the mark upon him, he knew well that he would be killed, if not worse. 

Lucius gave one of his rare smiles; the thought of anyone joining himself and the Death Eaters already made him happy, but the thought of his son becoming one of the 'chosen ones?' Oh, if a happier thought existed for Lucius Malfoy it was only that Voldemort would let he himself take over as the Dark Lord. "So then, Draco, come quickly. The fact that the Dark Lord has waited as long as he has for you should be an honor in itself. No doubt it's because of _my _superiority as a Death Eater, but-" 

"I'm not going," Draco interrupted plainly, knocking the smug smile off his father's face. 

Lucius' eyes narrowed, and pulled his wand out from his robe pocket once more. "You _will_ go." He threatened Draco with a small flip of his wand, and then nodded toward the door. "Go." 

"I refuse." Draco's voice grew in strength each time he spoke, as did the defiance in voice. His hand slipped into his pocket, and his fingers wrapped tightly around his wand, though he did not dare to pull it out. 

"You will go. Now." 

"No." 

Draco whipped out his wand as he saw his Lucius eye his own. He pointed it at his father, defying him once more in every action he made. "You don't wish to start this, do you, Draco? You know I could easily _make_ you go with an Imperius curse. Or I could just as well kill you with a Death Curse." He smiled slightly at the thought of using an Unforgivable Curse. 

"Yes, you could, Father. But you wouldn't. Either of the Unforgivable Curses would make this event so much less glorifying for you. If you were forced to use the Imperius Curse to make me join the Death Eaters, oh my, what would the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters think of you then? And if I were so defiant and rigid in my decision not to join you in your "quest to purify" the wizarding world that you had to _kill_ me, what would that do to the family reputation?" 

"Ah, yes, my son, that's quite true..." Lucius watched the smug look of victory come over Draco's face. "But you see, they all know quite well of that little act you pulled this morning. And _I _know quite well of another Unforgivable Curse that could easily be considered punishment for that." He now watched as his smile faded, though Draco never once showed fear of any kind. "And I warn you, should you choose not to go after this, the spell grows only worse when cast more than once... _Cruciatus!_" 

With a strength in his voice that Draco had heard only when hearing his father cast the Death Curse onto a minion of Voldemort's who had failed the Dark Lord or betrayed him in any way, Lucius cast the torturous spell onto his own son. Draco flew back against the wall again, though with much more force than he had when his father punched him. He felt his entire body cringe; he could feel his bones cracking through his damp skin, he felt himself banging into the cold, hard wall again and again, and his head pounded as though it had been the Death Curse placed on him and not just a torturing spell. 

Draco's mind shattered into a million pieces, he lost whatever he had of comprehensible thought in the sheer pain he felt as ligaments tore within his body, and his own father merely stood nearby and smiled, smiled as though the tone were light and beautiful within the room. But then, perhaps in the mind of Lucius Malfoy, the sounds of screaming, bones cracking, and skin tearing were beautiful, and were the only true sounds of happiness. 

The blonde squirmed, though he could hardly be considered blonde at this point as his hair turned a deep shade of carmine from the pool of blood it lay in. He thrashed his arms in every direction, splashing the blood into his face, and he swallowed it unconsciously. The metallic taste mixed with the saliva in his mouth, and he choked on it, and spat it out as his back bent forward and backward in odd positions. Draco cried out, screaming for what little life was left inside of him. 

He prayed then, prayed that something would stop the pain. Prayed that it would just stop, that the curse would just end right there of its own accord. Prayed that his father would put a stop to it, that he'd help him then, and support him like he'd always wanted. Prayed he would die, die and fall into an endless pit of darkness where he could fall for eternity without having to believe in anything, and more importantly, where he wouldn't have to _feel_ anything. 

Draco's vision grew hazy, and he could feel his mind spinning as the pain kept pounding and the blood kept pouring, pouring out of holes in his skin. Holes that occurred not only from the Cruciatus curse, but, as Draco could vaguely see through his steadily blurring vision, from the tip of his own father's wand. Piercing rays of light shot out from the dark tip of the wand, breaking through the skin, and Draco felt every one of them. 

And Draco cried. 

And Lucius laughed. 

Draco awoke, finding himself in his room, his body bent into a highly unnatural position. He tried to move his arm in an attempt to push himself up into a sitting position on the floor, but his arm felt weak, and he slid back down unto the cool surface of the wooden floor. His skin felt sticky, and when he looked down at himself to see as to why, he found his arms and legs covered in a red liquid. Covered in blood. 

And the memories flooded back to him. 

The pain, the screaming, the crying... and the cruel laughter that Draco felt would never cease. His mind ran the blurred images through his mind again and again, and he watched as his father pointed his wand in his face, watched the blood pour from his wounds as Lucius created more and more, watched his own father laughing in a way that he had never seen his father act before. In a way that was... joyful. 

Draco choked back a sob: he had already disgraced himself once today as he remembered the flood of tears that had left him while he writhed in pain. He tried again to lift himself, but fell to the ground again as his arms gave in beneath him. 

"Pitiful, that's what you are," a cold voice whispered, from somewhere behind him. "You've lost whatever little bit of strength you had in you before the curse... and you were only hit with it once. Even _Harry Potter_ can do better than that." Draco heard a shuffling of robes behind him, and then several echoing footsteps as his father approached him from behind. "You truly disgrace me, Draco." 

Draco turned to his head to face Lucius, though his neck tightened in pain every long second it moved. He looked around himself, and spotted his wand only a few inches away from his outstretched hand, and moved it down slightly to grab it in an effort of self-defense. 

Still, Lucius stepped on the dark, wooden wand, and rolled it back several feet with a flick of his boot. "You dare attempt to defy me again? You been hit, you've been cursed, yet still you beg for more? You... you fool..." Lucius stepped closer to his son, his tall form towering over the crushed boy. 

Lucius bent down, and for a moment, Draco thought he looked... _fatherly_... His eyes widened, and his brows fell into a soft curve. Even his lips softened into a faint smile, and he stretched out his hand. "Draco..." 

Draco was at a loss for words. He'd never once seen his father act like this, he'd never seen him even take the time to look at him when he was down. But here he was, his hand outstretched, and softly saying his name... Draco lightly placed his hand into his father's. 

"There now, boy, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Lucius' voice remained oddly soft for its usual sharpness, and his facial features followed a similar pattern. 

The man pulled slightly onto Draco's hand, and for the first time in what seemed like his entire life, Draco thought he was feeling love. But just as quickly as he had lent down to give Draco his hand and pull him up, he was pushing him hard against the wall. Lucius' feigned smile fell back into its normal smug sneer as Draco's head smashed into the wall again with a loud thud. 

Draco slid back, his head bursting with pain once more as he watched his father move towards him, and he wondered why he had been so stupid as to trust the man that had attacked and tortured him all these years. He watched him approach as his vision grew hazy again, watched him as he straddled his aching legs, watched as he ran a hand up and down his thigh. Draco tilted his head back in breathed a sigh of sheer and utter pain and remembrance. 

The tall man taunted the young boy, pulling on his pajama top and forcing his hands into it. He then slid both his hands up over his chest and around Draco's neck, his long fingernails drawing blood at the sides. His smooth, pale hands then pushed their way up from the base of his smooth, black top, and caressed his son's stomach... 

**_Author Note:_** I feel so bad torturing my Draco like this... But heck, it definately makes for some kick-butt stress relief! _^^_;; Yeah, that's about as specific I'm gonna get if I do another scene like that last one... When it comes to violence, I can't make any promises though... If anything changes on sexual content though, I'll make sure I make a note of it in later chapters, but I wouldn't expect anything to change. Well then, please review, and I should have the next chapter posted soon! 


	3. Discovery

_Warnings, Ratings, Pairings, etc. can be found in Chapter 1: Escape_

**_Author Note:_** A bit of a lighter chapter once you get into it, though the beginning follows the same themes as the first two chapters. Gets lighter as I add Harry into the story. Yes, we have Harry! *joy* Also, there are some slight spoilers from book 5. Nothing big, not like anyone dying *cough* or anything like that. However, something like that might come up later. For now, its just a real little thing, thus you've been officially warned. So yeah, I'll actually start writing now... enjoy! 

Draco awoke the next morning, his head pounding like he had never felt it ache before, and his chest heaved with each breathe he took. His eyes felt heavy when he tried to open them, and his muscles pulsed beneath his skin with every attempt to move them. He felt cold wood beneath himself, and as he tried to lift a hand from ground, he felt the resistance as a sticky substance was removed as well. 

Blood. 

And once again that day, Draco remembered. All those moments of suffering, of pain... it came back to him, no matter how hard he fought to forget it. And each moment of pain spilled forth from his mind to his body, making his suffering worsen tenfold. 

And the pain was unbearable... but he fought it. 

He lifted his head slowly, feeling the muscles tighten within his neck and the blood rushing through his veins as he did so. He leaned himself against the blood stained wall to support himself, and then lifted his body up using what little power remained in it. He nearly slipped and fell, though Draco fell against the wall again, and fought to stand straight as what was left of his world crashed down on him in realization... 

_My Father raped me._

And his hand began to quiver in thought as the rest of the night flooded back to him. All over he could feel the pain that he felt, as the images flashed through his young mind. As his arm was torn at again and again as he used it to lift himself from the ground, and he felt every small wound on his arm open again, open and bleed. As a longing hand ran across his chest, stroking it softly, and Draco felt every shudder run through his body, one after the other. And...and... 

And Draco broke down crying. 

He hated himself for it, for having broken the one sense of pride he had left in himself. For having lost himself in the thoughts of things gone past, for letting them take hold of him and grip him tightly, for letting the raw emotion within him drip down his pale cheeks. 

Though his body still ached with pain and regret, Draco stood strong then, wiping the stray tears from his face. His eyes had already turned a pale red, and his hands were soaked with a deeper shade of crimson from the pool of blood they had lain in. His tousled hair fell down into his gray eyes, and his face shone with determination despite the pain. 

The boy took a step forward, testing his footing against the pure dolor racing through his thigh as he moved, his stomach lurching every step of the way. His limbs felt like jelly; the Cruciatus Curse had bent them in such a way that they had been nearly crippled without breaking. He could hardly use his arms, and even as he leaned onto the walls, and the dressers, he felt the bones curving through his thin skin. 

Slowly, he moved towards his closet doors, blood dripping down the walls, down his unclothed arms, oozing out of a deep gash on his forehead. Occasionally a small splatter of blood fell from a stray strand off his silvery hair and into his eye, momentarily blinding him, and he stumbled over one thing after another. He once tripped over his father's discarded robes, having been thrown blindly against the wall in a rush, and they sent the boy back to the floor. He fell hard, his shoulder having been thrust down the hardest in an attempt to soften the fall elsewhere, but he heard a sickening crack as he landed, and pain coursed through his right arm. Draco cursed his father again as he lifted himself once more, though he was barely able to do so. 

As he reached the closet door, he picked out his finest robes, pulling them over his bare body. He dressed himself as completely as he could, his right arm still hanging limply at his side. _This is it,_ he told himself, gathering his wand and a few other valuables, and placing them into his robe's pocket. _I can't take it anymore._ Draco stepped out of his room with a renewed sense of strength. He ignored the pain in his chest as he drew short breaths, ignored the blackness that continually drove into his young mind. 

_I will stay here no longer. I am not weak, and I am not so stupid as to stay in a house that makes me out to be so. _He walked along the long corridors of his fine home, running fragile hands along heavy stone walls. _I will fight you in this way no longer, father... No. _The blonde came to a halt, pausing in thought. _Not father... Lucius. You've never been a father to me, and never will be... Lucius... I will not fight you here. I will fight a battle of wits... _He continued to walk again, thoughtlessly, until he reached the front door of Malfoy Manor._ And Lucius? _Draco sighed as he opened the door and stepped outside. He noted the bloody trail he had left behind him, noted the deep crimson liquid that now dripped off the handle of the front door onto the block of pavement outside. "...I will win..." 

***** 

"Harry, catch!" A deep red ball whisked through the orange sky, and was caught in the calloused hands of a messy-headed teenager. The boy, Harry, flew through the firmament at his top speed upon his Firebolt, and then tossed the ball into a small, wicker basket at the end of a large field. 

"Score!" Cried a small girl standing on the grass at the base of the field, her eyes fixed on her brothers and their friend. Harry flew down from the makeshift Quidditch pitch, and, landing beside her, stepped over his broom handle, holding the bewitched object at his side. Three redheads flew down behind him, landing similarly nearby him, although the last tripped a little as he flung his leg over his broomstick. 

"You put up a good game, Harry," said one of the older boys, running a hand through his rustled hair. "Even if you are playing with Ron..." He looked back at the boy who had tripped over his broom, who was now heading towards the other three. 

"Nice Fred, very nice..." Ron sighed, and took his spot next to Harry. "But we still beat you, 100 to 70, so I wouldn't talk if I were you." 

"Well, Ron... or should I say, my King..." The other older boy, George, trailed off, as he elbowed his obvious twin, Fred. Their features were identical; they even had the same cocky grin glued to their faces. 

Ron frowned at the memories of 'Weasley is our King,' and the taunting he'd received as the Gryffindor Quidditch Keeper. "Ron's improved a lot, George..." Harry sighed, and the breeze blew against his sweat-coated forehead, cooling him. He smiled as he saw Mrs. Weasley moving towards the group with a tray of Butterbeer. "G'morning, Mrs. Weasley!" 

The others turned to face their mother, smiling as well. "Morning, mum..." Fred and George spoke together, and Ron and the young girl, Ginny, followed their lead. The woman handed out mugs of the butterscotch flavored beverage, a favorite of wizards everywhere. 

"Good morning, Weasley's, Harry..." She nodded toward Harry Potter, who, with a little convincing from Tonks, Remus, and Moody, had gotten his Aunt and Uncle to leave him at the Burrow for the summer. "Well now, aren't you up early. Quidditch training already, and it hasn't even been a week into the summer yet..." She smiled more brightly, giving off a warmer glow than the rising sun over the horizon. 

The Weasley boys, Ginny, and Harry gulped down their Butterbeers quickly, eager to get back onto the Quidditch pitch. Ginny, freshly awakened, would be joining Harry and Ron for the new game, as she needed to get the feeling of playing with them if she were to try out for the new team next year; her spot as seeker being reclaimed by Harry now that Umbridge was gone. 

Harry finished off the refreshing beverage, and mounted his broom again. He hovered a couple of feet off the ground as he waited for the others. They joined him quickly, full of ambition and readiness. Ron brought the Quaffle up as they rose higher into the sky, prepared to start the second game of the day. Harry vaguely noticed Fred and George smiling gaily from the corner of his eyes, though he paid little attention to it. 

"Ready?" Ron asked his brother, as he tossed the ball to Harry, who faced George at the center of the pitch. 

"As ever." 

With that, Harry tossed the ball into the air, and the game began. Ron mostly remained in the back, practicing his skill at guarding the wicker basket. Harry was right; his skill had drastically improved since the beginning of the year. Though he still let the ball in more often than Wood ever had, and he still had a problem when he felt all eyes were on him, he had adjusted to the game well. 

Ginny moved swiftly between Fred and George, catching the Quaffle as her brother reached out for it. She nimbly dodged the rocks that Fred and George had bewitched to act as bludgers as they flew by her, and they came towards Harry then. Harry dodged behind Fred, and the fake bludger was coming towards him, when Harry noticed Fred pull out a bat, and hit the bludger with all his strength. 

The rock cracked and broke into hundreds of pieces, which then proceeded to chase Harry, Ron, and Ginny as George flicked his wand at it, targeting only those three. The other bludger fell to the ground as Fred undid the spell whilst laughing with George as their opposing team was bombarded with gravel, as in the olden days when official Quidditch games were still played with rocks. 

Ginny, still in possession of the Quaffle, was hit by the small pieces of rock, which then fell to the ground afterwards as the spell placed on them wasn't the most powerful. Angered by the constant pinching feeling she felt as each piece slammed into her, she threw the Quaffle at Fred with all her strength. Fred, still laughing with George as he watched his brother, sister, and friend pecked by the rocks, turned as he heard Ginny make a sound behind him, with just enough time to see the Quaffle coming towards him. 

He lifted his bat up, and sent the ball hurling back towards Ginny, who managed to dodge it, and then watched it fly off about a mile into the distance. George quickly flicked his wand once more, and the remaining bits of gravel fell to the ground. He barely heard Fred muttering something under his breath as he flew toward the edge of the pitch. "Fred, you stupid git. I told you to put a wall up 'round the pitch." Once again, he heard Fred muttering something under his breath. 

Harry and Ron, anxious to continue the game, flew next to George and looked off into the grassland beyond the Burrow. "Harry, you've got a fast broom and a good eye, think you can fetch it for us?" He looked toward Ron and nodded, and his form grew smaller and smaller as he flew off into the distance. 

Harry, using his Seeker instinct, ran his eyes back and forth as he flew over the tall grass outside the burrow. He watched for any sign of the large ball, though he'd flown nearly a mile already without sight of it. He was tempted to turn back when out of the corner of his eye he saw a dark mound that appeared to be moving. 

Pulling down slowly as he moved toward the figure, he came to a halt a few feet above it. He could hear heavy breathing from what he realized was a dark cloak, and then landed beside it. He looked down at the figure as he ran a hand through his dark, windswept hair, and saw a dark spot the stood out firmly the gray cloak. He pressed his hand to it lightly, and the figure groaned in response. 

He lifted his hand immediately, and noticed his fingers were now coated in a deep crimson liquid. Harry, taken aback with worry for the creature, lifted the cloak from the it, and watched as it sunk back, not accustomed to the incoming light. It groaned again, and muttered a few incomprehensible words. 

The brunette was sure he recognized the voice, though from where he did not know. He bent down, and placed a soothing hand on the back of the wizard that lay before him. "Don't worry..." Harry muttered softly, "I'll get you somewhere safe..." 

He felt the figure jerk slowly beneath his hand, and then lift itself from the cool grass on which it laid with its left arm. "P...Potter...?" With a quick twist the boy beneath Harry landed on his back, his face covered with blood and an expression of raw shock, which was quickly copied onto Harry's face. 

_"Malfoy?"_

**_Author Note:_** Woo hoo! This officially qualifies as the longest chapter yet _^_^_ By the way, I just wanted to thank Tweek2 for being my lone reviewer... I really appreciate it! _^^ _Well, thanks for reading, please review with comments/suggestions! 


	4. Kill the spare

_For warnings, disclaimer, pairings, etc., please view Chapter 1: Escape_

**_Author Note:_** Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I opened up my e-mail today and saw 5 reviews for this, all of which, I am proud to say, made me smile. Though I wasn't sure on the one that just said "o.O" which probably means I scared someone _^^_;; Which isn't bad, because I like scaring people XD Also, I changed the secondary genre, for those of you who didn't notice. I decided it was going to be more Drama-ish than Angst-ish in future chapters, though I promise to still deliver loads of Angst _^^_ As for this chapter, the first page or so isn't the best I've written, though I think the second half came out pretty well, but then, I guess that's up for you to decide ^^ Enjoy 

*** 

"We ask you to get the Quaffle, and you come back with _Malfoy!?_" Ron hissed, glaring at Harry, still unable to believe the sight before him. On his tattered couch lay a tattered Draco Malfoy, covered in blood and sweat, taking quick, shallow breaths. "I mean, yeah, there's not many differences... They both float around looking pretty, and they're both full of a bunch of hot air... But really Harry, _really_... Malfoy?" 

"Ron, do you honestly think I wanted to carry that bloke back here?" He nodded toward Draco then, who remained flat on his back and simply groaned in his unconscious state as he clawed at the air. "He needs help." 

Ron let out a low grumble; though he'd never been fond of Malfoy, he couldn't deny that he'd never seen him looking as pitiful as this. Blood still dripped from an unhealed gash on his pale forehead, running down the bridge of his nose and dripping off his chin onto his chest. He was bruised and battered, his arm hung limp at his side, and still they hadn't seen the injuries beneath his bloodstained robes. He continued breathing hard, with a pained expression on his face as Harry and the Weasley family stood around him. 

"Should we take him to St. Mungos?" Ginny asked halfheartedly, running a hand through her long hair. 

"No," replied Mrs Weasley who, unlike the others, took pity on the beaten form of Draco Malfoy. "They'd require a family member there, and the last person we want to deal with over this is Lucius Malfoy." Mr Weasley nodded in agreement, for he shared Mrs Weasley's views in protecting the boy. 

"The second Lucius becomes involved in this is the second I lose my job over 'beating his son' to this point." Mr Weasley sighed, gesturing towards Draco. "It doesn't matter whether I did this to him or not. And look at him, he looks awful... We'll have to keep him here for now, I suppose." 

"WHAT!?" Ron cried, his eyes expanding in a moment of shock. "You can't be serious, right Dad? He's a bloody Malfoy! He can't stay here..." 

"Come on, Ron," said Harry, sighing as he did so. "Look at him." 

"No way, too ugly." 

"Ron..." Ron looked towards him then, running his eyes up and down his twisted form. "He needs this, Ron. He needs us." Harry felt his stomach plunge as he spoke; he'd never expect to be supporting Draco as he did now. 

"Listen, Ron, he can stay here until he heals, should he wish to." Mrs Weasley took a step towards her youngest son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We've got no other choice; we can't just leave him out there alone, we'd be just like a Malfoy if we did that." 

"Fine then, Mother," Ron said, looking disgusted. "If you're all so against me..." He looked pointedly in Harry's direction. "But he is _not_ sleeping in my room." 

"All right then, Ron. Harry, would you mind if he stayed in the guest room with you?" Mrs Weasley looked towards Harry as well, who quickly covered up a look of disdain when Ron opened his mouth to speak. 

"That would be..." Harry paused, looking back towards the wounded Draco Malfoy. "Wonderful, Mrs. Weasley, just bloody wonderful..." 

***** 

Draco awoke the next morning, pulling a soft blanket up to the base of his chin. He opened his eyes slowly, and rolled his shoulders back as he stretched. A sharp pain shot through him, and the realization that he wasn't in his own bed, not even his own room, hit him as he opened his eyes wider. 

The room, messy as it was, was quite comfortable. A small chair was set next to an empty bed across the room, and the pure white sheets were tangled as though they had just been slept in. next to the bed lay a stack of random belongings: School robes, Quidditch robes, muggle clothing, a broomstick, a large cage, and an old trunk which Draco was sure contained many more items. 

The floor was of a dark wood, with several cracks that ran great lengths down the small room. The lighting was decent; a small light bulb was suspended in the air with nothing holding it at all, and it shone brightly, displaying the cobwebs in the corners of the room. 

Draco then looked down onto himself when he noticed the faint tinge of blood on the covers of the bed. He'd been stripped down to his boxers, and his side was bandaged by a long piece of gauze that had been tightly wrapped around him. It had turned a pale red, and the smallest amount had leaked out onto the blankets surrounding him. His arm was in a tightly bound, makeshift cast of sorts as well, and it lay at his side. 

There was the sudden pounding of footsteps from outside the oak door, followed by the rushing of loud voices. Draco shut his eyes quickly as the sounds approached him, feigning sleep as he continued to wonder where he was and who he was with. 

The door burst open, and a fit of laughter was broken as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley remembered that Draco Malfoy lay only a few feet from them. They took light steps towards Harry's bedside, and Harry bent over the pile of clothes next to it, tossing a second set of Quidditch robes on top, and then pulling a deep red sweater over his upper-body. 

Draco squinted so he'd appear asleep, as he was curious as to who had taken him in, in his bloody form. Through his blurred vision, he saw two figures moving back towards the door, speaking in hushed voices, and occasionally taking a quick look in his direction. 

The first figure was a somewhat short, scrawny teenager, with a messy head of jet-black hair, and what Draco thought looked like a pair of thick black glasses. The other one was much taller, and was wearing tattered muggle clothing, with bright red hair that shone from the magically suspended light bulb. _Oh, it's just Potter and Weasley..._

Draco's eyes shot open in a split second of realization. "Potter and Weasley!? What the hell!?" Harry and Ron turned abruptly at the sound of the familiar voice. 

"Yes, because _see_, Harry, he's in such _pitiful_ condition..." Ron nodded towards Draco, who was attempting to push himself up of the bed with his one good arm. "We just _had_ to take him in..." He watched as Draco fell down to the bed with a thud when his weakened arm could no longer hold is heavy body, and mumbled a bit as he did so. 

"Why the _hell_ am I here, Weasley?" He spat bitterly in the boys' direction, still trying to push himself up off of the warm mattress on which he lay. He fell again, and quietly cursed his weakened form under his breath. "Where am I anyway...?" He asked more calmly, though a strong sneer was still spread across his face. 

"Well, for one, you're in my humble little home. _Welcome_ to the Burrow." Ron turned away quickly after he spoke when he saw the sneer on Draco's face play into a deep frown. "As for why you're here, I'd suggest you ask 'Potter.'" Ron then walked straight through the old oak door, and the distinct sound of pounding feet was heard, followed by another door being slammed shut down the hall. 

"Well then, Potter... Again, why the hell am I in the Weasel's house?" 

"Because, I was stupid enough to bring you here," Harry said with a sigh. 

"And what in the wizarding world drove you to that? Did you find the need to pull off another random act of kindness? Not seeing your name in the paper enough lately?" Draco made his last attempt at raising himself from the mattress; he fell once more and groaned in disgust, then shifted himself so he could get a good view of both the room and Harry. 

"Oh, don't act like you don't remember, Malfoy," Harry said glumly, running his hand through his hair in his umpteenth attempt to straighten it. "You moaned and groaned when I found you out there. You practically _begged_ for my mercy." Harry knew he was twisting the truth in this case, but he knew he needed to take what chances he had to insult the pureblooded wizard. "I found you out in the fields, covered in blood, and you _whimpered_ when I touched you..." 

"I never!" As Harry brought back the details of the previous day, Draco's mind supplied his memories for him. True, he remembered groaning at the touch, but when you have a hole pierced in your side that's pouring out blood, it's the least to be expected. 

Harry sighed, unhappy with the thought he'd been able to break Draco's confidence for the day. Still, he went on; "Well, I brought you back here, since you were dying out there. Seeing as how you dropped unconscious on the flight back, we all just decided that it'd be best if you stayed here until you recovered. That is, except for Ron. I think he wanted you left out for a hungry herd of Hippogriffs to find." 

"And why didn't you drop me off at St. Mungos instead? Didn't you want to get me out of your hands?" 

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley thought it best not to get your father involved, and if we left you there..." Harry trailed off, watching as Draco's eyes sunk at the mention of his father. For a second, Harry saw his outer shield crack and break down, and the iciness in his eyes melted away. But just as swiftly as it had disappeared, the shield was back again, and Draco glowered at Harry, who simply stood watching the quick, seamless transformation. 

"All right." 

_All right?,_ Harry thought to himself. He'd expected another witty comment about how, maybe Harry had secretly wanted him here, or how he wanted to say that it was him who'd cured an awful ailment to the son of one of the richest, most respected wizards of the day. He didn't understand the calm reply that just accepted the facts as they were. Nor did he understand the breaking of his shell at the mention of Lucius, though he dare not tread down that path at this time. 

"Well then, I'm sure if you need anything, you won't hesitate to ask..." Harry said, taking a step back from the side of the blonde. 

Draco, feeling defeated at the mention of his father-no, Lucius,- simply nodded, though he continued to glare in Harry's direction as he walked out the door he had entered through. He listened as Harry's footsteps echoed down the long hallway of the Burrow, much lighter than Ron's had been, and then a door was shut in the same vicinity of the one that Ron had slammed. 

Draco heaved a heavy sigh, not entirely sure as to what he should think. The pureblooded Malfoy inside of him longed for escape. _Surely it's better to die in a field as you bleed to death,_ a voice inside his head said to him, _than to live from the help of 'The Boy Who Lived' and a poor family of Weasels._

However, another voice rang just as clearly, the voice that had always rebelled against the Malfoy traditions that Draco was forced to believe in. A voice that Draco knew longed only to be accepted by his father, and the people around him, albeit the students at Hogwarts, or the poised and classy children of the businessmen who attended either Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. _You should at least give a thank you to someone, Draco,_ the voice told him cheerily. 

Draco, who had quickly realized he was intently listening to a conversation between two arguing, invisible voices within his head, placed a hand to his forehead and sighed once more. He slid down, laying his head against the soft pillow, and closed his eyes in a futile attempt to gain sleep and lose the voices, and more importantly the memories of Lucius by Harry's talk of St. Mungos... 

***** 

Draco awoke again several hours later. Having finally achieved sleep that afternoon, he had slept through the remainder of the day, and now lay awake, gazing at the ceiling and listening to the slow, deep breaths of Harry Potter several hours past midnight. 

Again he tried to lift himself from his bed, but fell back again and again. He looked down onto himself with disgust for his weakness. He noticed his bandages had been changed again, as they were now a much purer white than they had been before. Draco placed a hand on his side over the wound, cringing slightly as the pain shot through his thin body again. 

He closed his eyes as he grew immune to the pain that coursed through him from the pressure on the puncture at his side. The darkness comforted him as it had since he was a child. He chose blackness in favor of light, as he had grown in fear of the day, fearing the power that his father had placed over him and displayed during every day ever since he was old enough to understand that force and pain could be used in the most manipulative of ways. And since those days, sleep had become his only comfort, a blackness surrounding him and taking away the pain. 

But even now the enrapturing sleep was downcast into a fall through nightmares; long passed memories that continued to haunt him to the very day. 

Still, in the comforting atmosphere of the Burrow, even the nightmares faded away in sleep, replaced by a deep blackness in which nothing could be seen. Draco embraced the surrounding darkness, falling into it as the world slowly left him again. His mind was clear of all thought or memory; there was nothing being played through his young mind, not a single scarring memory, just an empty bleakness that Draco had always longed for. 

After all, ignorance is bliss. 

And deep down, Draco knew that he would face his problems another day. He knew he would be forced to face the destruction of all that was left of his crumbling world. But for that moment, it was all nothing to him, simply a melody of cascading notes that played through him like a band. Playing out sad sounds of defeat, soft melodies of emptiness, and occasionally he thought he heard the sound of a trumpet that blew the strong notes of victory. But the thoughts of these he would save to ponder for another day, for now a clear calm sleep was all that stood before him, and Draco nodded off into a land of nothingness... 

However, just as he succumbed to the forces that brought him down into the comforting blackness, he heard a _pop_ in the corner of his mind and flung his eyes open in anger. He could vaguely make out a figure across the room standing near Harry's bed, holding a wand in its hand. 

_Wonderful_, Draco thought as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. _And little Harry Potter can now add sleep to the list of things he's stolen from..._ But the thought left him as he looked more intently at the figure. It was not the figure of Harry, but someone else, someone Draco had recognized as having spoken with Lucius before, though in the darkness he couldn't make out who it was. 

"Now then..." the figure spoke freely, obviously not having noticed Draco across the room. "Master Voldemort wanted Harry Potter taken back alive..." The voice was shaky and unsure, though it lifted its wand into the air, and muttered, '_Lumos_.' 

Immediately the room was filled with a dim light, and Draco blinked several times at the new lighting. But, as soon as his eyes had adjusted once more, he knew who the man across the room was. 

With confidence that only a Malfoy could possess, Draco spoke. "So that's who you are," he said loudly, with enough force that he saw Harry move and slowly blink open his eyes. The figure turned towards him, noticing him for the first time. "Peter Pettigrew..." He watched as Harry's eyes opened wider and as he reached for the wand that lay on a board above his bed. "Wormtail...," whispered Harry as he stood, but as quickly as he did so, four more _pop_s sounded off, and four cloaked figures stood in the center of the room. Harry took a step backwards at this, though his wand hand remained steadily pointed at Wormtail. 

Draco immediately recognized the figures as Death Eaters, as they were covered in a black cloak that covered their bodies and a dark hood that fell over their faces. But it wasn't only the clothing they wore; he could _feel_ them, could feel the heavy aura of their presence. He squirmed, but the tight bonds around his wound kept him from writhing too much, and his weakened arms and legs kept him from rising; kept him from running. 

At the sounds of such movement though, the Death Eaters had turned toward him, and he could feel their piercing gaze on him even though he couldn't see their eyes. Through a space between two of them, he could see Harry as he moved toward the small group, though he looked unconfident for the reputation he had as the Boy Who Lived, and the hero who had stopped Lord Voldemort. 

But he stopped in has tracks at the sound of Wormtail's voice, frozen at the sound of it. "You know how it goes..." Wormtail raised a hand, flicking it towards Draco in an act of disdain. And in a suddenly more confident voice, he recycled the line that Harry had remembered so well from his encounter with Voldemort in his fourth year... 

"_Kill the spare..."_

**_Author Note:_** Hehehe... I like that Kill the spare line way too much... I have a fixation with the unforgivable curses, I think they're spiffy _^^_;;; That's probably a bad sign... Anyway, I'm proud to say that I know where I'm going with this fic now. Up to this point, I didn't have a plot yet... I was just rambling... heh... This chapter took me a little longer, as I had zip when it came to inspiration for it, but it's about as long as the first two chapters combined, so yeah. As for future updates: I have band camp starting up in full swing now (XD) so, unless I get a sudden burst of inspiration (which wouldn't entirely surprise me) you should expect about one update a week... I'll try to have Chapter 5 posted by next Monday. Okay, well, I'll clam up now, so please review!!! 


	5. Realization

_For Warnings, Disclaimer, pairings, etc., please view Chapter 1: Escape_

__

_**Author Note: **_Oh my goodness... Is this what I think it is? 

An **update**???? 

Why yes it is, finally :) And before I say anything else, I must apologize very very deeply for the wait. I'm so so so so _so_ sorry for my laziness. I have a fairly busy schedule (in other words, I'm in a marching band), but I still feel very horrible about this _^^_;; I've had one review saying that they'll start crying if I didn't update, and another claiming that they'd have to beg _^^_;; Although I am very happy I'm being that well received :) 

I have not abandoned this story. I _will not_ abandon this story. Please feel free to e-mail me like whoa if I ever appear to have abandoned this story. And please keep reviewing me. Each time I got a review after I slowed down on this, I wrote more of this chapter. You've been very encouraging to me, so please continue (that is, if you haven't abandoned this story yet _^^_;;)__

__I've just entered high school, and I joined the Tiger's Pride Marching Band, which is very time consuming. The season is, however drawing to a close. We'll still be practicing, as we go to Florida this Christmas, but I should be gaining some free time... (oh no... the school play is starting soon... X.X) Well, I'll have free time for a little while at least _^^_;;Andthere's the fact thatI just saw the new trailer this morning. I almost died. No, seriously. 

So yes, we have a revival of the Harry Potter lurve. And I'll try to update as often as I can. So anyways, please, read on :) 

*** 

"Kill the spare..." 

The voice rang out clear against the cool, dark night. The curtains in the windows blew softly in a gentle breeze, creating the only sound in the room, save for the heavy breathing of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. 

Draco could feel the stillness of the room, until Peter Pettigrew's pale hand fell softly to the side of his robes. With this action, the swarm of death eaters had moved toward him, surrounding the boy. The four figures stood over him menacingly, their dark hoods keeping him from recognizing any of them. 

The first of them reached a hand out to him. 

Draco, still unable to move, shivered at the touch. The figure ran a hand down the blonde's arm, and he felt goose bumps form as the long fingers passed over his fragile skin. The hand trailed its way down his side, and he cringed as it passed his stinging wound, and then caressed his tender thigh... 

_...watched as he ran a hand up and down his thigh..._

The touch felt familiar; he recognized the icy cold feeling as the hands reached up around his neck. For a moment he was sure the dark creature would choke him, but he felt only the pain of fingernails digging into his skin, and running over old scars and scratches that bled as the scab was torn off. 

_...then slid both his hands up over his chest and around Draco's neck, his long fingernails drawing blood at the sides..._

Draco felt the warm trickling of blood slide down his neck along with the smooth hands falling down with it. They landed on his bandaged stomach, tearing slightly at the white cloth, and running a single finger in circles over his chest. 

_...pale hands then pushed their way up from the base of his smooth, black top, and caressed his son's stomach..._

Draco gasped at the memories, though he couldn't fight away the force of the cackling Death Eater... 

"And you've failed me yet again, boy." The words of the man struck like a leather whip; the realization struck harder. "Lying here _so_ pitifully. And in the house of a _Weasley_ at that... You are no son of mine..." 

Draco struggled against Lucius' grip, but his injuries and the powerful hold of his father confined him to the bed. A long blonde tress fell from the hood of Lucius' cloak, running smoothly over Draco's petrified face as another breeze blew through the room. The older man reached up with his free hand, and as he moved the hair back into place underneath the black cloth of the hood, Draco vaguely saw a smirk on his face as the moonlight reflected off his lips and gleaming eyes. 

"And no longer will you be..." 

The silence that followed his sharp words seemed to last an eternity for the blonde boy. In the few moments it took for Lucius to pull out his long, thin wand and to point it in Draco's direction, he breathed in what he was sure would be his final breaths. Death at the hand of his father... He tried to pull away from Lucius again, though he failed again and within those last precious seconds, Lucius had his wand poised and ready. 

Again the moonlight glinted off his slanted eyes, and Draco could see the words before they had even formed on his lips. "_Avada..._"__

_"Expecto Patronum!"_ Harry's voice broke through the words as Lucius Malfoy spoke them, creating a bright light that shone through the darkness. It assumed the form of a stag, running through the first three Death Eaters and Pettigrew. Each let out a shrill in turn as the stag went through them, then wavered before they fell to the ground in a heap. 

Lucius' head turned quickly as the bright lights caught him off guard, and he whipped around just in time to see the stag pass through his body, though he made not the smallest sound as he fell to ground, nearly unconscious. It then continued its way to Draco, where it stopped. The blonde reached out a hand toward it, though it simply passed through the figure, which quickly faded away. 

Harry and Draco cast a fleeting glance across the room, but quickly turned their gaze to the slowly rising form of Lucius Malfoy, whose wand lay on the ground beneath him. Wormtail and the three remaining Death Eaters, all of whom were leering viciously in Harry's direction, stood slowly after him. Peter called the three Death Eaters off Harry as they stumbled weakly toward the confident looking, raven-haired boy, and Lucius took one last, heavy step toward Draco. 

"You have not seen the last of me, boy," he hissed, lightly dusting off his robes. "I'm your worst nightmare. I'm always there..." 

With that last remark, five _pop_s were heard, and the figures were gone. Draco's hand fell to the side of the bed, and without a word, he fell asleep with one foot hanging off the mattress and his pillow on the floor... 

...though Harry thought he heard the blonde whisper something that sounded vaguely like _thank you_...__

__

__*** 

The minutes passed like hours, and the hours like days as time rolled on in the Burrow, each moment passing with the foreboding of another attack. Of course the Weasleys had broken quickly into the room where Harry and Draco lay, though they managed to see nothing more than the disappearance of multiple figures as they knocked the door down, for it was heavily cursed with locking spells. 

There, they found Draco laying askew in the bed, bandages torn, and watched as Harry ran over to him in silence. As he sighed in relief, he collapsed at Draco's side; his torso upon the mattress and his legs unmoving on the hardwood floor. Mr Weasley held Mrs Weasley's hand, as he was sure she felt to do the same, and Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George raced to Harry's side as Harry had to Draco's. 

The next day passed slowly, and nearly all was explained to the stunned family. Though the end of the night remained untold, for an unmentioned glance between the two boys was enough to seal their thoughts... 

*** 

The first light of dawn passed through the thin curtain in the windows of the guest room at the Burrow. Dim rays, as thin as they may be, lit the room slightly, and one particularly strong ray fell gently over the eyes of Harry Potter. 

The light penetrated through his eyelids, and as the brightness grew, the depth of his sleep wavered. After tossing around in the sheets for a few minutes and tightly clenching his eyes to block out the sunlight, the raven-haired boy finally accepted his defeat and lazily rolled out of the soft, warm bed. 

Though his footsteps were light, the hard floor still made a harsh sound as he walked, and echoed as Harry worked his way slowly across the room towards the old door. He placed one limp hand over the handle, but he heard a grunt from the other side of the room and saw none other than Draco Malfoy as he twisted the sheets around his thin leg. 

The light, brighter now than it had been before as the sun rose higher into the morning sky, shone through his white-blonde hair, almost creating a halo of light over the figure. His pale face was highlighted by the thin rays that dashed over him, and his lithe, calm body seemed alive with warmth from the first rays of the morning sun. 

As Harry remained lost in thought, the rays of sunlight that cascaded over the body of Draco Malfoy began to disrupt his deep slumber. He scrunched up his face just as Harry had done, and moaned again as he pushed himself up into a sitting position on the bed. 

Two weeks had passed since the incident on that night. Draco's wounds had been nearly fully healed, thanks to the efforts of Mrs Weasley. Those that Harry had received from the fight with Peter Pettigrew had healed as well, though the cuts and scrapes hadn't seemed more than trivial when compared to the punctures and breaks that Draco had suffered through. 

Harry quickly broke away from his long gaze at Draco as the blonde boy looked toward him, still half asleep. "G'morning," and Harry quickly flashed a smile as he walked out the door. 

Blinking himself into consciousness, Draco took in the room again, from tattered cloth hangings on the walls, to the old floorboard that creaked as Harry stepped out of the room. From the chipped pottery that decorated the shelves to the shelves themselves, rickety and tilted, falling from their fixtures between the boards that held them together. From the moth eaten curtains that hung around the open windows, to Harry Potter as he left the room. Harry Potter... 

Even now, after two long weeks of coexistence, his thoughts were mixed. Enemies, that's what they'd always been. The famous rivals, the true adversaries of Slytherin and Gryffindor. But now, the thought of that felt strange, almost wrong. Perhaps it was the time spent in forced cohabitation. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Harry knew how deeply Lucius had damaged Draco's pride. Perhaps it was just the fading of feelings over time. Whatever it was, the hatred was diminishing, dad by day. 

Still, the feeling was something new; different. Every morning there had been a moment where they would catch the others eye, but the silence was deafening. Finally, Harry had picked up the habit of a smile and a greeting, but the gesture was strange to Draco. He'd heard it from teachers, from those around him to one another in the Slytherin Common Room, but never from anyone else. 

_Never_ from Lucius. 

And his only response was a softening of his eyes, or the slightest nod before he turned away and smoothed down the sheets of his bed. 

A few mornings ago, he remembered his breakfast with the Weasley's and Harry. When Arthur and Molly Weasley cheerily brought the bacon and eggs to the table, they'd shouted their good mornings, and received a chorus back of them as well. Draco quietly had mumbled it as well under his breath. He could see Ron give him a strange look out of the corner of his eye, and Harry smiled faintly before he began his work on the fried eggs in front of him. 

And it was still strange for him, but as Harry shut the door behind him, he sighed heavily and returned to straightening the graying sheets that lay on his bed. Draco then slipped himself into a set of black jeans and a white T-shirt that the Weasley's had lent him, folded his nightclothes, and followed Harry down to the kitchen. 

"...sounds like a servant of Voldemort killed him. Probably because he couldn't take you out, eh, Harry?" Mr Weasley laughed halfheartedly, pointing at an article in the Daily Prophet. "'Says here they found him mangled up pretty bad, down under the bridge in Knockturn Alley." 

Draco kept his steps light, careful not to disturb the flow of the conversation with his entrance. He remained in the shadows of the stairwell, watching as most of the Weasley's looked towards a photo on the cover of the wizarding paper. 

"It sounds like they suspect the attacker used the Cruciactus curse on him until he went insane." Draco cringed, running a hand over the side of his abdomen. 

"Then they used the Avada Kedavra curse on him, leaving him good and dead for a few startled visitors to find the next day." Harry shivered, tracing his hand over his lightning bolt scar. 

"Peter Pettigrew..." Ron scowled a little as memories of the rodent Scabbers passed through his mind. "He deserved to die." Harry nodded, still keeping a hand over his forehead. 

Ron smirked, setting down his silver fork as he reached for a glass of juice. "I'll bet you anything Malfoy killed him." 

But from across the table, Harry saw Draco's hand dart down from his side as he stepped out of the shadows, walking toward the table. Slowly, walking with the pride he'd been taught he must always possess, he headed straight for the door. Draco could hear Ron choking on his juice as he reached for the handle without a word, and smiled slightly at it. He pulled the door open gently, but as he walked out of it, Draco unconsciously felt himself slam it into the wooden door frame. 

And he ran so hard; he just had to get away. Not for love of his father, not for love of the family name. Truly, whatever love he'd once come to know had disappeared long ago, alongside his innocence. 

Love _did not_ exist. 

So Draco kept running, leaving his thoughts far behind him in the dust that floated slowly down to the ground, caught up in the whirlwind of air that was pushed out of his way. And he didn't know where he was going, but he followed the gentle flow of the wind, racing it, tempting it to blow and knock him to the ground, but it just blew softly, sending his tousled hair in all directions. 

The blonde slowed soon, nearing the edge of forest as he started to run out of breath. The Burrow was far from his sight now, far behind his heavy, pounding footsteps that were ruined as the wind brushed them away. 

Draco settled down near a tree, reminding himself of his old sanctuary back when he was still at Malfoy Manor. Save for the small creek, and the dark, looming figure of the Manor casting shadows over him in the early hours of the morning, it was all the same. He stretched out as he always would, clearing his mind of all thought, finding himself in the mess around him. 

But this time it was different. 

Draco still didn't know why he'd run. He didn't want to go home, that was for certain. He didn't care if they mocked Lucius; Draco was almost certain there was nothing left for him but a deep swelling of hatred in his heart. 

Then what was there? 

Though he didn't know why, nor was he sure he wanted to, Draco had felt a ripping sensation spread straight across his heart. There was a pain that ran through him now, but it was a different kind of pain than the physical torture he'd endured for his life. Different from the mind games, from the mental strife he fought back from consuming his mind daily. 

Emotions. 

Was that it? Had he felt a glimmer of hope at forming a bond, a _true_ bond with these people? With the Weasley's? 

_With Harry?_

The wind kept racing through his hair, through the branches of the tree that his back rested upon. _Lose your thoughts,_ he thought, falling into a heavy silence as he fell into an even heavier sleep. 

_"Mmph..." The soft moan echoed off the dungeon walls, absent of strength in the presence of the powerful figure before him. The boy was shoved into another wall, ripping the tender skin of his lithe arm, destroying the perfection of it, destroying the last pieces of pale, unscathed skin._

_Again, a jolt ran through him as a hand ran over his back, swirling the fingers softly as Draco fell into their touch. But before a moment's "relaxation" could be enjoyed, he was slammed into another wall, lost in a pool of hot blood; the dizzying shades of red and the dancing candlelight rendering him thoughtless as he was lifted off the ground again._

_Spots of white light clouded his vision as the robed man danced fingers lightly upon his bare chest, running long fingers through Draco's short hair. He started shoving him again, pushing him into the wall near his right shoulder, with increasing power..._

__

__"Wake up." Harry pushed Draco into the tree several more times, until his head bobbed slightly and he finally managed to kick Harry in the shins. "You know, that hurt, you idiot." 

"_Don't touch me..._" He mumbled, just loudly enough to be audible. He felt a sharp sense of pain in his right shoulder as he squirmed closer to the tree. 

"Draco, please, get _up_!" Harry gently rested a hand on Draco's left shoulder, poking him square in the chest. 

"_Leave me alone, Father!_" And now Draco was screaming as he shoved a stunned Harry off of him, falling down to the base of the tree. He muttered a curse as his shoulder fell hard onto the cool ground, and he finally opened his eyes to consciousness. "Ow..." 

"What the hell was _that_, Draco! First you run off to -- God knows where we are, so we all have to come chase you down, and you're sleeping? _Sleeping?_ So what do you do when I try to wake you up? _Kick me?_ _Shove me?_ Scream and kick and whine all you want, but damn, what's your problem?" 

Draco fell speechless, rubbing his injured shoulder as he looked back at Harry. "I... had a dream." His voice was unusually shaky, almost frightened as he spoke. 

"Oh yes, a dream, because that's _so much_ of an excuse." 

"But haven't you ever..." 

"I-" Harry stopped cold, and his eyes fell away from Draco's for one long moment. He placed a reassuring hand on Draco's shoulder without saying a word. 

"Haven't you?" 

"I... have..." 

"Then you... understand...?" 

"I suppose..." 

"I'm sorry... Harry..." 

"Wait a second." Harry paused, lifting his other hand to scratch his head. "You're Draco Malfoy, and you not only just apologized to me, Harry Potter, but you called me Harry. Not Potter, not Golden Boy, not idiot, just _Harry_." 

"Yes, but you called me Draco earlier. I heard you, through the dream." 

"Eh? I... suppose I did, didn't I?" Harry chuckled lightly at the thought, and slowly stood, raising Draco to his feet as well. "Well then, against whatever you may believe, the Weasley's are actually quite worried that you may be very much dead right now, I think even Ron looked a little bit shaken after you walked out like that. Then again, he may have thought you'd just curse him from behind. Which would, of course, have been a dreadful, dreadful thing, because, well, you know Ron, he wouldn't have been able to finish breakfast, which, as I said, would have been a dreadful, dreadful thing." 

As the day began to draw to a close, the sunset rose over the hills, spreading millions of colors across the sky, painting brilliant imagery over the soft puffy clouds that seemingly flew over the Burrow. The Firebolt whipped through them, soaring across the sky towards the large, rickety home. Upon it at the front sat Harry Potter, bringing Draco Malfoy back towards the home of the Weasleys. 

As the Firebolt drew closer to the Burrow, Harry could feel Draco pressing up against him, leaning against him as they were lowered to the ground. The winds began to cease as they approached the side of the house, and Harry finally felt his feet lightly skim the ground beneath him. He looked behind him as he felt Draco press harder into him still. 

Draco's head rested itself lightly upon Harry's shoulder, his eyes shut, and his mouth open in a small circle. He'd fallen fast asleep. 

Harry, careful not to disturb his slumber, swung his leg over the broomstick, and caught Draco as he fell forward. Gently, he hoisted the blonde up into his arms, and carried him into the old doors of the Burrow. 

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were inside, and greeted Harry loudly until they saw him touch a finger to his lips. They stood back and watched Harry wander slowly up the stairs towards the guest bedroom, until they lost sight of him as he turned a corner to ascend the next flight of stairs. 

He pushed the door open lightly, stepping into the cool room, and the floorboards creaked ever so lightly as he did. He walked over to Draco's bed, and gently laid him down on the old, tattered sheets. 

He pulled the covers up to the base of the boy's chin, and carefully laid them over his body. He ran one finger over his face, brushing a few stray hairs out of his eyes, and a few stray pieces of dirt off his rosy cheeks. 

"Good night...," and he walked slowly away. 

_Draco slightly opened one eye, smiled, and finally fell asleep_...__

__

__

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_**Author Note: **_Oh come on, you know you love the corniness of it all _^^ _I apologize if that was a little bit OOC, but, well, it's gotta be a little bit I suppose, doesn't it? I tried to slowly bring Draco to this point, I hope this wasn't too quickly _^^;_; And, while it may go into the lovy-dovy-ness of it all a little more, I'd like you to keep in mind, this was an overly-fluffy chapter. I don't really like fluff that much, honestly _^^_;; (If you like fluff, please feel free to read "If Only in My Dreams," my FFX Tidus/Wakka fic. _That's fluff_. Well, chapter 2 more than chapter 1. Chapter one is just a fluffy make-out _^^_;; I don't intend to do that again. (And as if _that_ wasn't shameless fanfic self-promotion _^^_;;)) Some of this will be fluffy, but I'll be adding some more dark elements to this story in upcoming chapters. Also, please forgive my few, pitiful attempts at humor. I'm stupid, and that's all there is to it _^^_;; 

Again, I apologize for the wait for this chapter, especially as I don't honestly feel the wait was worthwhile for a chapter like this. I'll attempt to bring up the levels of darkness in upcoming chapters, and as well, I'll be bringing better writing quality I hope. 

Now, for the begging _^___^_ Please review. It really boosts my self esteem, and also encourages me to write more. It really does _^^_ So leave me some love, because I absolutely adore hearing from you. Also, please feel free to e-mail me, I'm a very open person, and I'd love to talk to you, or rant about how wonderful Harry Potter is _^_o_^_ Again, please review!! I'll post the next Chapter as soon as I complete it, so keep reviewing me to kick my lazy self into motion _^_^ _

Oh yes, and by the way, I wanted to say while I was reading the reviews: 

**Shellbert**: Awesome, so glad I found someone else loving the Unforgivables _^^_ A couple months ago I used a permanent pen to draw the Dark Mark on my shoulder, two people thought it was a real tattoo _^___^_ Thanks for the review!! 

**A reader**: Tee-hee, during my math exam, I banged my head on the table because I couldn't figure out how to do a problem, and while I was banging it, I figured out how I could get half credit on the problem _^^_ Thankies! 

**theExecutioner**: Haha, spiffy is my word! You are not alone! Sank yuu!!! 

Thanks again to all the reviewers! *runs off to listen to Irish techno* 


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